


Amaurëa

by Ilya_Boltagon



Series: Peredhil [5]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Bigotry & Prejudice, Drama, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Healing, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Magic, Peredhil - Freeform, dark pasts, shape-shifting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-15
Updated: 2020-09-26
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:59:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24733519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ilya_Boltagon/pseuds/Ilya_Boltagon
Summary: The continuing experiences and exploits of Maglor and Arwen as their lives in Valinor continue, with new trials and tribulations. Valinor is believed to be perfect, an ideal paradise for the Eldar and Valar. The reality... may be somewhat different, and acceptance may need to be earned. Especially if one is not entirely of Elven blood... Sequel to Minuial.
Relationships: Amarië/Finrod Felagund | Findaráto, Arwen Undómiel & Dior Eluchíl, Arwen Undómiel & Maglor | Makalaurë, Dior Eluchíl & Elwing, Dior Eluchíl/Nimloth of Doriath, Eluréd & Elurín & Elwing (Tolkien), Eluréd & Elurín (Tolkien), Elwing & Melian (Tolkien), Elwing & Nimloth of Doriath, Eärendil/Elwing (Tolkien), Eärwen/Finarfin | Arafinwë, Idril Celebrindal/Tuor, Original female Elf character & everyone, Original male Elf character & everyone
Series: Peredhil [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1645723
Comments: 41
Kudos: 61





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Continuing with my tradition of Elvish sky-related titles, Amaurëa means dawn or early day.

“Adar, we should be coming with you.” Eluréd protested, as Dior and Nimloth prepared to set out for Olwë's palace, where they would be having a private meeting with Maglor Feanorion, to finally discuss the past and clear the air between them. It had been set aside for some time, due to the revelation of Elwing's troubles, (that Dior could scarcely believe no-one had noticed for so long, himself included, for which he felt no small guilt, for letting his daughter down) and her departure to the Gardens of Lorien to at last seek healing, but there was no further cause for delay.

“Tuor and Idril are more than capable of watching over Anariel and Arwen.” Elurín chimed in. “And it is not as if we do not have our own issues to settle with the Feanorions, is it?” He shuddered involuntarily, remembering harsh, cruel grips upon him, being carted around like a sack of flour, then cast, heedlessly, into the snow of a winter's night.

“Maglor is not Celegorm.” Nimloth stated softly. “And no-one is saying you do not have a right to air your own grievances, ionnath nin, but, for now, your Adar and I wish to speak to Maglor alone.”

“There are things that need to be said that are not for your ears.” Dior added, turning and meeting the gazes of his sons, neither of whom looked pleased.

“So we are being put aside as if we are elflings, too young to hear the conversation of adults.” Elurín folded his arms, turning away, his displeasure clear.

“You do yourself no favors by acting like an elfling.” Dior added dryly, but he did not comment further. He was uneasy enough about this meeting without having to deal with his sons' attitudes. Maglor seemed to care deeply for young Arwen, treating her almost as a daughter of his own, and so he had surely changed to some degree, and he was never one of the Feanorions that had caused problems for Dior (and his parents) directly, but still... things would be said during this conversation that put some of Maglor's brothers in a terrible, if honest, light. How would the Noldo react to that?

Eluréd shook his head, looking no more pleased than his twin, and turned to leave. “Come, Elurín. If we aren't invited to be part of this meeting, we'd best be off.” Tugging his brother by the arm, he was the first to leave the room. “We would not want to overhear something the _adults_ want kept from us!” His tone was bitter, and Dior turned to remonstrate with him, but he and Elurín were already gone.

Dior shook his head, sighing. “Perhaps we should have let them accompany us.”

Nimloth slid her hand into his. “No, meleth. They do not need to hear exactly what passed between us and Celegorm and Curufin, that day.” She said the words casually enough, as if they had no effect on her, but her eyes were haunted, as Dior knew his own were.

“I suppose not.” He squeezed her hand, offering as well as seeking comfort, allowing himself a small smile as the gesture was returned. “We'd best be off. Delaying will not make this easier.”

“No, it will not.” Nimloth nonetheless remained still, waiting for him to be ready to depart.

Hand in hand, they left their home, walking quickly towards Olwë's palace, where (hopefully) Maglor awaited. Dior was tempted to use his Maia-inherited gifts to reach out and judge for himself Maglor's current mood, but restrained himself. No matter what, this discussion would be more difficult for Maglor than it was for himself and Nimloth: it was not _their_ brothers that had cut unarmed elves down like wheat, and they did not now have to shoulder all the burden alone. Spying on Maglor, prior to that, would not be wise.

He did, however, reach out and 'listen' in on his sons, wanting to ensure they were not in too ill a mood, as they were meant to be joining Tuor and Idril in watching Anariel and Arwen, the latter of whom had only met Ëarendil's parents for brief periods over the past year, and never without other adults around. Eluréd and Elurín's perspective was... odd, and it took Dior a moment to realize why: they had both assumed their bird forms, in the likeness of the golden-crowned sparrow, and were seeking their nieces on wing. It took an effort for Dior not to groan- Tuor and Idril might know, abstractly, of Elwing's swan form, but that the Peredhil could _all_ shift their shape was still, by large, a secret. Anariel knew, of course, though as yet she had shown no signs of shifting herself, but who knew if Arwen knew aught of it? ' _Do not reveal yourselves in those forms in front of Arwen, Idril and Tuor_.' He instructed his sons firmly, sending his words in a decisive tone directly to their minds.

' _We will not let on that we are more than birds, Adar._ ' Came the eventual reply. Dior sighed once more- that would have to do.

Nimloth had always been good at reading his expression. “What are our sons up to?”

“They are visiting their nieces in their bird forms. I told them not to reveal themselves.”

She rolled her eyes. “I suppose it could be worse.” She looked thoughtful. “I am surprised that Arwen does not appear to be able to shift...”

“Well, Anariel has not done so either. Perhaps the ability is fading now that Daernaneth's blood has become more diluted.”

“Perhaps. But, given Arwen's strong likeness to you, and your mother, I'd have expected to see more power from her...”

Dior shrugged, unsure. They had only seen their great-granddaughter a handful of times, and while her fëa clearly shone with power, he had yet to see her using it with the ease that he and his sons did. He had, once, tried to reach out, to 'nudge' her mind with his own, but she had recoiled, and he had seen such fear blossom in her aura that he had not tried again. He explained as much to Nimloth, for sometimes she had insights that he did not.

She looked thoughtful, her brow creasing. “Arwen was in Lorien for some time before she and Maglor came to Tirion, was she not? Do we know why?”

“Daernaneth only spoke of some assault on the child's fëa. She did not give details.” Even as he spoke, he could have kicked himself, and he felt his face redden. “That... could well be why she did not like my reaching into her mind.” It was so obvious now, he felt like a fool. “Perhaps I should apologize to her...”

“Without knowing the whole story? I would not recommend that.” Nimloth narrowed her eyes. “Perhaps, while we speak with Maglor, we can see what he is willing to tell us of what happened to Arwen.” She gestured with her free hand, and Dior almost started: they were already at the palace entrance, and he hadn't even noticed, he had been so engrossed in their conversation, and his pondering about Arwen. He took a deep breath, reminding himself that Maglor had to be dreading this far more than he was, squared his shoulders, and strode into the palace, looking far more confident than he felt as he and Nimloth were shown into a furnished parlor, where Maglor awaited them, his face drawn and weary, dark circles beneath his eyes.

They all took a seat in silence, none seeming to want to be the first to speak.

Eventually, Maglor looked up, with effort, as if he were forcing himself to meet their gazes. “Where would you like to start?”

Dior ran through everything he had planned to say in his mind: he'd had plenty of rehearsed, pointed comments he intended to make, but now, seeing the strain and clear guilt on Maglor's face, and the remorse that practically _choked_ the colors of his fëa... “You really do regret it.” Words he had never thought he would say, but that he knew to be true.

“Yes.” His hands shook. “If I could take it back, all of it, I would.”

“Do you think that _they_ would, were they here?” Nimloth's cutting tone made it clear who she was speaking of.

“No. Celegorm and Curufin... they were always the most driven of all of us.”

That, Dior agreed with. He leaned forward slightly. “Did you know that your accursed Oath left a visible mark in your colors- your fëa?” He clarified, realizing that Maglor, not having any gifts similar to those bestowed by Melian's legacy, might not know what he meant by 'colors'. “Celegorm, Curufin and Caranthir were almost strangled by it, when I saw them.”

Maglor would not meet his gaze. “I did not know, but from comments made by Elrond and Elros when they were children, I could have guessed at it.” His anguish was plain to see, and Dior decided to ease it somewhat.

“I was surprised to see its absence in your fëa, when I first saw you, that day in Tirion, during your... altercation with Elwing.”

Maglor's gaze whipped to Dior, his eyes widening, as if this had not even occurred to him. “It... it's gone?”

Dior allowed himself a small, sad smile. “I assure you, if it were not, I would have put up far more of a fight about you having charge of my great-granddaughter.” Not that it would have worked, since the Valar themselves had allowed Maglor to keep custody of Arwen, but Dior saw no point in sugar-coating his words. Maglor was well aware of his past crimes, and whether he had atoned or not, Dior wanted him to be clear that he might have been forgiven, but the past had not been forgotten: indeed, it might never be.

“I know it is not enough, it will never be, but I am sorry. For every ill deed that I, and my brothers, committed against you and yours.” Maglor's shoulders slumped, as if he had already concluded that his apology would have no effect on their views of him.

Dior lowered his eyes, after exchanging a long look with Nimloth. He thought of Doriath, of the scores of Elves that he had pledged to protect, that he had failed because of the Feanorians- and the Silmaril. He thought of the requests to hand it over that he had refused. He thought of that fateful battle, of Nimloth slain, his sons abandoned, his daughter fleeing, of that final, fateful confrontation with Celegorm, in Menegroth's throne room, where the feral, coldly beautiful Noldo had faced him, a snarl of utter hate on his fair face, the faces of Dior's mother and father- dead by then- foremost in Celegorm's mind. He recalled how viciously they had fought, until each had slain the other, both bleeding out, unable to move- a battle that neither had won.

But none of that could be placed directly at Maglor's door, not in truth. He had been there, certainly, guilty by association, but not responsible firsthand.

Nimloth was the one to actually break the tense silence. “I- _we_ have heard that Maedhros, and you, did search for our sons in the woods, although you did not succeed, and that those who cast them out into that winter were punished. Is there truth to that?”

Anger flashed in Maglor's eyes and in his fëa's colors, gone an instant later. “Yes. Celegorm's servants were sent away. I- I mean, Maedhros and I, had no use for such cruel warriors, killers of children. I do not know, or truly care, what became of them, though I hope that they will be wiser if they are reborn, or if they return to Valinor.” Here he paused. “I was relieved when I learned that your sons had been reborn, and I will offer my apologies to them also, if I may. If they would accept it.”

Dior could only see sincerity in Maglor's fëa now, and sighed, finally letting himself relax- how long could he truly hold onto anger, after all? The events of Doriath had been over two Ages ago, before his rebirth, and all who had been lost- almost all- had been restored to life. And Maglor had raised his grandsons when he need not have done, and was currently raising his great-granddaughter.

Dior thought of his parents, who had always taught him to value family, and to practice forgiveness and mercy where he could. He felt the usual stab of guilt at thinking of them, having always known, deep down, that Lúthien and Beren would not have wanted the Silmaril prized over innocent lives, yet he- and Elwing, if he were truly honest- had done just that. There had been reasons, of course, but still- that jewel had blinded him, and his people, almost as much as it had the Feanorians. And, if Kinslaying meant 'slaying of Elf by Elf' then he, and the Sindar of Doriath, were just as guilty as the Feanorians had been, whether they had acted in defense or not. “I think all who were involved in those events were mad, to some extent, and there is not a one of us who is guiltless.” He looked Maglor straight in the eyes, even as he took Nimloth's hand again, sensing similar thoughts in her mind to those in his own. “I cannot speak for my sons- they may still struggle to accept you- but for my part-”

“And mine.” Nimloth added.

“Then the past can now be left where it belongs, while we look to a better future.” Here he paused, debating whether to speak his next thoughts. “And since I highly doubt anyone else has ever said this to you: _thank you_ for sparing the lives of our grandsons and taking them in when you need not have done so. Elrond- and Elros- were very lucky to have you to raise them.”

Maglor shook his head, tears in his eyes. “I was the lucky one, to have such wonderful sons- I mean, foster sons- to care for.”

Nimloth leaned forward, her eyes shining. “Would you tell us of them? Elrond is an adult now, and we will never know Elros... what were they like as children?”

Maglor was hesitant at first, but with increasingly eager questions from Nimloth and from Dior himself, he soon gained confidence in speaking of Elrond and Elros, and their childhood. Dior was astonished to learn that, contrary to what he had long believed, Elrond _did_ posses the ability to shift his form, as indeed did Arwen, but (according to Maglor) Elrond had never felt fully comfortable with his Maiar-born gifts. It made sense, in a way, given that Elrond had had no older blood kin to guide and teach him, but still, it saddened Dior, to think of his grandson growing up uneasy with and scarcely aware of his own power. And, it struck him, it had likely been the same for Elwing, growing up- who had been there to help her? He vowed, there and then, that he would do all he could to teach the children, to ensure Arwen (and Anariel) were given the best chance possible to accept and enjoy all that they were, rejoicing in their gifts as he and his sons had.

And when he finally met Elrond, he would endeavor to do the same for him, and his sons. There was no shame in celebrating how unique the Peredhil were, and Dior would be certain that _all_ his family knew it.


	2. Chapter 2

Arwen held tightly to Anariel's hand as they waded into the surf. The Sea was so _vast_ , stretching in a glittering expanse as far as the eye could see, melding into the sky on the distant horizon. She had never imagined anything like it. She'd travelled across it, of course, to reach Valinor, but at the time she had been barely conscious and unable to move. She'd never really thought about what the Sea _looked_ like until now. So deep, fathomless... and powerful. And she and her little aunt were walking slowly into it.

Anariel moved with confidence, but then, Arwen reflected, the younger elleth had grown up in Elwing's tower, with a beach a stone's throw away. The waves swirling over their feet and ankles, reaching forward, then receding, felt strange and unsettling to Arwen, as if they would carry her away if she let her guard down. It was a blazing hot summer's day, with little wind, and even the sea-birds were quiet, for the first time in the three days since Maglor had brought Arwen to Alqualondë to visit Tuor and Idril, instead of them bringing Anariel to Tirion and visiting them there, as they had several times over the past year. Ëarendil's parents had always been kind to Arwen and to Maglor, accepting them both as if they had always been part of the family. They currently sat some distance away on the golden sand, Idril nestled in Tuor's arms, the two speaking softly as Arwen and Anariel paddled, as Tuor had called it.

Taking a deep breath, trying to ignore the unease she felt in putting herself in the Sea's power, Arwen smiled down at Anariel; in the year since Elwing had gone to the Gardens of Lorien, Arwen had had a growth spurt, while Anariel had perhaps grown an inch, so that now, her little aunt's head barely reached her shoulder. It was clear, from her returned smile, that she felt none of the unease that Arwen did in the Sea, so, squaring her shoulders, Arwen took several more steps. The hairs on the back of her neck rose as, amid the swish, swish of the waves upon the shore, she thought she could make out faint strains of someone singing, coming _from_ the deeper water. She stopped where she was, abruptly, her grip on Anariel's hand making the smaller elleth stumble.

“What's the matter?”

“Do you... do you hear that?” Arwen scarcely dared raise her voice above a whisper, afraid of interrupting the haunting song that she could just barely hear.

Anariel blinked. “Of course. The Sea always sings like that. Nana hears it too. So does Daerada- Nana's Ada, I mean, not Tuor. And Eluréd and Elurín. I thought everyone did.”

A glance back at Idril and Tuor showed that they clearly heard nothing, even as the singing became louder. Now, Arwen could almost make out words in the song, but not words in any language she knew. Nonetheless, it seemed to pull at her very blood, starting a yearning deep within her- the words _almost_ made sense, and drew her towards the distant singer, out in the still, calm Sea.

And then, as if a bucket of ice water had doused her, she froze utterly. What was she _doing_? Had she completely forgotten what had happened the last time she had listened to a formless voice that had at first seemed like a friend?!

Anariel, who had followed Arwen into the water, looking as entranced as she had just felt, simply skirted around her and continued wading out, her gaze locked upon the water, as if she saw something beneath the surface of the glittering waves. Arwen caught her by the arm, halting her immediately, and Anariel started, as if she had just woken from a dream. “What... the song, it's never been so loud...”

Arwen turned to gaze out at the innocuous-looking Sea, her eyes narrowed. The song still pulled and tugged at her, now sounding more playful than tantalizing, as if the singer had realized the youth of her audience, but Arwen clenched her fists. She would go no further, nor allow Anariel to risk doing so, until she knew what was going on. A lump of cold fear was twisting in her stomach, old memories of the Enemy and his manipulations making her want to run and hide, but Anariel was here. She had to keep her child-aunt safe, no matter her own feelings. Steeling herself, she 'called' with her mind, though it took a great deal of will for her 'voice' not to quiver with fear: she had not spoken to an unseen being in this way since... No. No, she would not think of him. That was in the past. “ _Who's there?_ ” She 'called' before she could talk herself out of it.

The undulating song lightened, now sounding more like to laughter, so shining and musical that Arwen looked into the water despite her misgivings. To her amazement, she could see almost blinding colors strewn through the waves, like to a fëa but different, stronger, stranger. A combination of color that she had not seen since her time in the Gardens of Lorien, two years ago. “A Maia.” She found herself breathing the word, as the colors took form, a shining female, slowly emerging or forming from the Sea itself, her long, glistening hair forged from the very water. She wore a rippling robe made of what appeared to be sea-foam, and as she walked atop the water towards them, a school of dolphins leapt and danced around her, as if providing an escort.

Knowledge from somewhere flooded Arwen's mind, and her fear all but evaporated as she realized she could indeed put a name to this being. “Lady Uinen.” She bowed her head, feeling awed and slightly awkward- was there some formality to be followed here? Did Uinen often appear to those who walked the shore?

Back on the beach, she could hear Tuor and Idril scrambling to their feet, offering their own greetings to the female Maia of the Sea, but Uinen's smiling gaze was fixed upon Arwen and Anariel, who by now had lost her earlier confidence and shrunk closer to Arwen's side.

“Young ones.” Uinen's speaking voice echoed oddly, like the sound one heard when holding a sea-shell to one's ear: here and yet distant. “I have long wished for one of my kinswoman's children to actually answer my call, instead of simply listening without reply. Glad I am at last that you will pass some time with me.” She offered her hands, her skin shining like polished pearl, and, after a hesitant glance back at Tuor and Idril, the former of whom nodded reassuringly, Arwen slowly reached out, taking Uinen's cooler-than-expected hand in her own. Anariel timidly followed her example, and with another joyful laugh, Uinen led them into deeper waters. It felt as if this were some manner of dream, as the water held their weight as well as any stone road might- through Uinen's influence, Arwen assumed, as she could 'see' the Maia's power flowing around them as if her very hair formed the water that they travelled over. The dolphins chirped politely, and, driven by a sudden urge, Arwen reached for a dorsal fin.

Uinen smiled. “Go. Play if you will, my young cousin. I brought you here to show you the joys of the Sea.”

Arwen needed no further encouragement, trusting her weight to the dolphin, who chirped in delight, before diving into the no-longer-solid waves, swimming some distance, then leaping to the surface, Arwen clinging as tightly as she had when she first cleared a jump on horseback. Drenched, and with water spraying from her hair, she couldn't keep from laughing with joy- the leap had felt like flying!

Anariel still perched near Lady Uinen, kneeling now, examining something she could see beneath the surface. Arwen only got a brief glimpse, however, as her 'mount' dived and then leapt once more. The seawater on her eyelashes made everything appear to be coated in rainbows, and her heart pounded with exhilaration- even going over jumps on a horse was not this invigorating!

The dolphin treated her to several more leaps, as well as some lengthy underwater swims, revealing some beautiful schools of brightly-colored fish, numerous groups of tiny, feathery seahorses and an amazing coral reef, before swimming back to Uinen and Anariel, and the area of not-water they still stood upon. Arwen slid from its back, her legs wobbly, still laughing as she stroked the dolphin's back and thanked it. One last chirp, and it was gone.

Anariel, meanwhile, seemed to be gathering pieces of red and pink coral, tying them to a fine piece of seaweed to make some kind of jewellery, while deep in conversation with Uinen.

The Maia smoothed Anariel's blonde hair before turning to Arwen, her eyes shining with something like sadness now, although her expression had not changed. Her words now came straight to Arwen's mind, while Anariel continued with her creation, oblivious. _”I had assumed... when I learned that a child had suffered at the hands of the Fallen One, I presumed this little one was his victim, and meant to offer her comfort for that suffering. You appear somewhat older than I expected, Elrondiel, although we Maiar do not judge age well._ ”

Arwen was not sure how to take this, nor what she should say in reply. Her thoughts must have shown on her face, for Uinen touched her shoulder gently. _”Had I realized you were the one, I would not have called into your mind as strongly as I did. I felt your fear, and presumed it was the Sea you feared, hence my deciding to show you its beauty. I apologize. I meant no harm, little star.”_

 _”Anariel does not- you did not tell her about... that?”_ Arwen swallowed hard at almost challenging a Maia, but almost no-one knew about what she had almost allowed Morgoth to do, back in Middle-Earth, and she wished it to remain that way.

Uinen shook her head, nothing but kindness in her eyes. _”None will know of that unless you tell them._ ” Then, clapping her hands, she glanced back towards the shore. “Your Elven kin await you now, little ones. I believe our play is over for now, but perhaps the next time you come to the shore, you will join me once again? There have been no Maiar, part or otherwise, as young as the two of you, for eons.”

Anariel agreed eagerly, beaming. Arwen found herself doing the same- she had no idea why Uinen and the Sea had seemed so frightening earlier- had it simply been the presence of an unclad Maia that aroused her suspicions, or simply paranoia caused by her past? Either way, the notion of returning here for more such adventures was greatly appealing.

“And, young Anariel, when your mother returns, inform that I would welcome her company as well. I have missed glimpsing her upon the shores, and the brief talks we had.” Uinen added. Anariel's face fell slightly at the mention of Elwing, but she managed a tiny nod, which Uinen returned, seeming not to notice Anariel's sadness, before she simply dissolved into a wave and rushed towards shore, with Arwen and Anariel somehow supported with ease upon the crest of it/her, until they were deposited in the shallows and able to walk to rejoin Idril and Tuor. Anariel was wearing the coral necklace she had made, and Arwen was dripping wet from head to toe, but grinning nonetheless.

Idril rolled her eyes at the state Arwen was in, but Tuor merely laughed, slipping an arm around his wife.

“I am glad to learn I am not the only one who finds joy in Lord Ulmo's domain!”

Arwen shook her head, sending droplets flying from her blue-black mane that now resembled a rat's nest. “I had no idea there was such beauty in it!”

“Aye, beauty- and danger. The Sea can be a wonderful thing, as long as it's respected. The two of you were honored and protected by the Lady's presence today. Going to such depths is unwise if you are alone, though.” Tuor's voice carried a hint of warning, and both elflings nodded their understanding- they weren't to venture out alone.

“At any rate, we'd best go and get you dried off and cleaned up before you catch your death.” Idril added, steering Arwen back up the beach. “I don't wish Uncle Makalaurë- er, I mean, my cousin Maglor, to accuse me of not caring for you properly.”

Tuor hefted Anariel onto his shoulders as they walked, with her chattering away about something or other- she certainly talked far more than she used to! Arwen thought wryly. As they made their way indoors, she spotted, out of the corner of her eye, two golden-crowned sparrows flitting along behind them, for all the world as if they were following. The birds looked identical, and, concentrating, she recognized the 'colors' of her great-uncles Eluréd and Elurín. So they too could take on bird form, albeit in forms a lot smaller than her own sparrowhawk. She smirked, sending a thought their way just before slipping inside.

 _”It is strange to see two birds from the forest so lost as to be on the seashore, Uncles!”_ Laughing quietly when she felt their shock at her recognizing them, she slipped indoors, only then realizing that this was the first time she had used osanwe and not felt afraid since coming to Valinor. And, just a short while ago, she had, albeit only in her mind, used Morgoth's name for the first time since her nightmarish experience with him, without recoiling or shying away from using it. Perhaps Uinen's visit had begun to cure more than her fear of the Sea...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=81sigNx8prU  
> This is the song that inspired me to have Uinen singing to call to Arwen and Anariel in this chapter. Just imagine them hearing something like this when you read it, except of course Uinen would be singing in Valarin, not Irish. 😊


	3. Chapter 3

Despite being thousands of years old, older than her Adar, even, Amrod and Amras still acted like elflings around Arwen, much to her delight (and Daerada's exasperation.) It was like having her own brothers with her, and she suspected Daerada knew that, for he did little to curb their mischief while she was present. She had thoroughly enjoyed her stay at Nerdanel's townhouse, playing pranks with and on the twins, and listening to funny tales of Daerada in his childhood, most of which he denied ever having happened, even as she worried that the nightmares that still plagued her might be annoying Daerada's mother and brothers, disturbing their sleep night after night. It had been over a year since she had left the Gardens of Lorien, and she'd hoped the nightmares would have stopped by now. Daerada told her she mustn't be too hard on herself, that a year was not a great deal of time in terms of recovering from trauma, but it did little to ease her impatience: she wanted to be better, less of a burden on others, _now_. She wasn't sure what Daerada had told Nerdanel, Amrod and Amras about the cause of her bad dreams- nothing, she hoped, but of course, how much his family were told about her was up to him. Her attempt to apologize to Nerdanel for her childishness, waking up screaming from nightmares, her continued inability to sleep without some form of light in her room- had been met with a firm dismissal and a warm, tender embrace.

The visit to Alqualondë had ended with some rather awkward time (in Arwen's opinion) spent with Dior and Nimloth and their sons, Arwen's great-uncles. They'd been kind and welcoming enough, but there was still tension between them and Daerada, which left everyone uncomfortable. Not only that, but sometimes, the way they looked at Arwen... it was as if they expected something, or hoped to see something in her, that she couldn't provide, like they expected her to be more than she was, somehow. She'd been relieved when Daerada brought her back to Tirion. They had come to stay here immediately after their return from Alqualondë, just for a week or two while the final renovations were completed on the house she and Daerada had chosen for themselves a year ago. It had once belonged to Daerada's brother Curufin and his wife and son, and had been in a grave state of disrepair, since none had been inside since not long after the Deaths of the Two Trees, a time so long ago in history that it made Arwen dizzy to even think about.

She had spent a fair amount of time here with her 'uncles' of sorts, since Daerada and Nerdanel had spent most of their time either in the forge or in Nerdanel's sculpting room. She'd heard tools being used, and at one point, Daerada's voice raised in Song, but he would not tell her what manner of project he and his mother were working on. Nor had her attempts to eavesdrop (enabled by Amrod and Amras, who were as curious as she was) yielded any results.

Currently, she was crouched beneath the dining room table, concealed by the tablecloth that draped almost to the floor. The game of Hide-and-Seek had begun because Amrod and Amras had been bragging of their hunting skills, trying to one-up the other, though they were clearly jesting. She had been so reminded of Elladan and Elrohir's antics that a lump had risen in her throat, and without thinking, she had joined in with her uncles' teasing the way she would have with her own older brothers, challenging them to come and find her once she had hidden herself, if they were such great hunters.

Amrod and Amras had grinned at the challenge, giving their word that if she won, they would do any tutoring assignments that Daerada gave her from today until Arwen and Daerada departed for their new home. If _they_ won, Arwen had to carry out one of their usual chores, and they would choose which task she'd be doing. The deal had been struck, and dutifully, at Arwen's instruction, they had gone outside to count. They had no idea, of course, that her abilities allowed her to 'listen' for them when they got close, and, if needed, will them to not think to look here. It was not cheating, as such- if they were truly the hunters they believed themselves to be, they would have ensured they knew all the abilities of their 'prey' before beginning this game!

She heard footsteps and froze, narrowing her eyes and concentrating. The 'colors' she could see on occasion came visible much more easily than they used to: perhaps it was an effect of dwelling in Valinor, where the power of the Valar was strongest? At any rate, despite the tablecloth before her physical eyes, she could clearly see the bright-autumn brown fëa colors that Amrod and Amras shared.

The door to the dining room eased open silently, and Arwen sat stock-still, not even stirring the air by breathing too loudly. Amrod, the older twin, whose colors were just a little brighter, stepped closer to the dining table, and she prepared to reach out, just to brush against his thoughts and 'smooth' away any urge he might have to look underneath the table.

 _Like the Enemy soothed away my fear and unease of him._ The thought came from nowhere, and Arwen started, her foot jerking and knocking against a chair, instantly giving away her hiding place. Amrod tossed back the tablecloth and crouched to see her with a triumphant 'Aha!' but she could barely bring herself to smile back as she clambered out and brushed herself off. The comparison her mind had made, between her gifts and the Enemy's evil, chilled her, as if her blood had turned to ice.

She was not like him, she _wasn't._ Her only intent had been to use her gifts to win a slightly childish but amusing game. She had meant no harm in reaching for Amrod's mind. That was nothing like what the Enemy had done to her, using honeyed lies and trickery to manipulate her. But still... the power itself, reaching into the mind of another, it was similar... Shoving the thought aside, she resolved to ask Daerada later, as she did with many things she could not make sense of, or see clearly. He would help her understand the rights and wrongs of this more clearly. There were more pressing matters at hand, such as the wicked gleams in the eyes of Amrod and Amras as they grinned down at her. (Not that far down, though, for since she had had her growth spurt, the top of her head was level with their collarbones.)

She tilted her head up, meeting their eyes, knowing their 'prize' for winning the game of hide and seek would not be pleasant. She really should have made it clearer that she would not do _any_ chore that they asked of her- this could end very unpleasantly...

Later, after having mucked out the stalls of both twins' stallions, and having fallen over in the compost heap, due to a very thin rope that just 'happened' to have been tied right in front of the heap, with no sign of Amrod or Amras nearby, she was plotting her revenge on them as she made her way back to the house, hoping she would have a chance to bathe and change before Daerada or Nerdanel noticed her stained clothing and the stable-smell that clung to her. Luck was not on her side, however, for Nerdanel was standing at the foot of the stairs as Arwen slipped in the front door. She focused quickly on the large wrapped bundle that Nerdanel held, hoping that her current pungent odor would go unnoticed.

“Is that what you and Daerada have been working on for the past few days?” Arwen adopted her most innocent voice and expression as she spoke.

“Yes. It is actually something for you, an idea I had once I realized you struggle so with nightmares and sleeping in the full dark of night.” Nerdanel's nose wrinkled as she surveyed Arwen, and the younger elleth was suddenly very conscious of the tangy smell of dung clinging to her, as well as the stains on her skin and clothing- with her luck, it would be on her face as well!

Shifting the unwieldy whatever-it-was to one arm, Nerdanel reached out slowly, plucking a piece of straw from Arwen's hair, and shook her head. “Why do I suspect my youngest sons are somehow to blame for this?”

“Uh...” Arwen looked at her feet, unsure. For all she intended to get revenge on Amrod and Amras herself- a prank for a prank- she did not want to get them in trouble with Nerdanel. “It... they... it was only a jest.” She finished weakly.

“Mm-hmm. Well, get yourself upstairs and cleaned up. If you're swift, Makalaurë- Maglor, I mean, will not need to find out.”

Arwen smiled in thanks, scuttling up the stairs, pausing half way and turning. “Daerada isn't here?” He hadn't told her he was going anywhere...

“He's gone to inspect the final work on your new home. Run along and bathe before you trail dirt all over my house, please.”

Arwen hung her head, feeling guilty about making a mess now. She continued up the stairs, her shoulders slumped, being careful to touch as little as possible.

“And Arwen?” Nerdanel's expression was still stern when Arwen turned, but her eyes were twinkling, and her colors showed she was not truly angry. “Has Maglor ever told you that his youngest brothers truly dislike snakes?”

“No...”

“It's a pity, really, for I have several very life-like carvings of snakes in the storage chest in my bedroom. They were made for Maglor when he was young, for he liked the creatures. I kept them for my other sons, but the twins never were keen.” Nerdanel shook her head. “I apologize, my mind is wandering. Go bathe, and I will show what Maglor and I have made for you once you're cleaned up.” She actually _winked_ at Arwen before walking away.

Arwen's own mind was buzzing with ideas and she could hardly keep from giggling as she went and bathed, already plotting out how she might use carvings of snakes in her revenge prank on Amrod and Amras.

Once she was clad in a clean gown, her hair brushed out and shining, left unbound, she made her way back downstairs, finding Nerdanel in the sitting room, the tall wrapped object now standing on the table before her.

Curiosity overcame Arwen and she scrutinized it from every angle, trying to guess at what it was. Nerdanel smiled indulgently at her, gesturing with her hand for Arwen to sit beside her.

“Obviously, I've noticed you have... difficulty falling asleep without some manner of light in your room.” Nerdanel spoke gently. “And even with that taken care of, nightmares plague you. I do not know why, nor do I intend to ask. Whatever you have been through, and who you share it with, is down to you. But having a candle or lantern burning all night is not practical- they can burn themselves out. Not to mention, it is a fire risk. So, I dug out some old notes of Fe- of a master craftsman I once knew.”

 _Fëanáro,_ her mind whispered, the mental voice too clear to ignore, and Arwen saw, in her own mind, an image of an Elf, great indeed, tall and strong and handsome- but so proud and angry. The image was gone an instant later, shoved away along with a stab of anger and loneliness. Arwen stayed silent, not revealing what she'd seen and sensed, letting her compose herself, and Nerdanel swallowed hard, unwrapping the bundle before speaking again.

Arwen gasped at what she saw- it was an exquisite carving, wrought of a strange milky-white stone, made in the likeness of a great Tree, polished and shining. “It's beautiful! But-”

“But how will it help you sleep?” Nerdanel guessed at her next words, and Arwen nodded.

“This is carved from Isilsar, or Moonstone. Under bright light, this type of rock gives off a glow. Maglor and I have changed this one so that it will hoard light during the day, and provide light for you at night.”

Arwen stared, wide-eyed, at the carved tree, and then at Nerdanel. She had never heard of such a thing, but the idea of having a cool, steady source of moonlight, to reassure her when she woke from her nightmares into a dark room... Even the thought filled her with joy. Not having to rely solely on a flickering candle, or a dim lantern, to remind herself of her own safety...

She flung her arms around Nerdanel, clinging to her as she might have her own mother, unable to find any suitable words to express her gratitude, although she did murmur “Thank you”, her voice muffled slightly by the fabric of Nerdanel's gown.

She eased back, her face reddening slightly- she had never shown such blatant affection for Nerdanel before, and wasn't certain how it would be received. To her relief, Nerdanel was smiling, reaching out to smooth her hair. “You're welcome, little one. But it is nothing, truly: family help one another, do they not?”

Arwen nodded, reminded, suddenly, of Daernaneth, back in Middle-Earth. She wasn't sure why- Nerdanel looked nothing like Galadriel- but suddenly, something in her manner, her tone, was reminding Arwen of her.

Suddenly, Nerdanel's eyes twinkled. “Why don't we go and place this in your room for now, and then I will show you the carved snakes I once made for Maglor, if you wish to see them.”

Arwen nodded eagerly, picking up the lamp, grunting a little at its weight, already puzzling over how she could 'borrow' some of the mock snakes, and where she could plant them to frighten the twins.

Nerdanel winked at Arwen once more, as if she were guessing at her plans for the snake figurines. “When my two youngest eventually return, I plan to have them clean out their armoires: they hardly ever do so, and dust builds up inside so swiftly.”

Arwen stifled a giggle, seeing clearly what Nerdanel meant, amazed that she would almost be enabling Arwen's revenge on Amrod and Amras, but, the elfling supposed, hiding fake snakes in their armoires was nothing in comparison to being made to fall into a compost heap: the twins deserved payback. “Uncles Amrod and Amras should clean their belongings more often. Dust can hide many things. It might even be that some animals or other creatures have found their way inside the armoires.” She spoke as sweetly and innocently as she was able.

Nerdanel nodded sagely. “Indeed. It would not surprise me, the amount of time they spend outdoors, if some of nature's denizens followed them home.” They had reached Arwen's room now, and she carefully placed the lamp on the table beside her bed, already smiling at the thought of (hopefully) getting a good night's sleep.

Nerdanel then led Arwen to her own room, showing her the wooden models of snakes. They truly were lifelike, some curled up as if sleeping, some coiled as if they would strike any moment, and their scales so lifelike... Arwen was mesmerized, so much so that for a moment, she forgot her plans.

The door slamming downstairs, and Amrod and Amras calling out, announcing their return, snapped her out of it, and she exchanged a conspiratorial look with Nerdanel, before the older elleth went downstairs, lecturing her sons for their prank, and the filthy state Arwen had had to walk home in, while Arwen grabbed several of the carved snakes and darted swiftly into Amrod's room, then Amras', slipping out a few minutes later empty handed.

“...And because you got young Arwen into such a mess, I can only conclude that the two of you enjoy mess as much as you always have,” Nerdanel's tone was blistering, and Arwen, hidden from view on the landing, bit her tongue to keep from laughing. “So it's only fair that you both be reminded of how to clean one up.”

“But Amil-”

“Whatever argument you're above to give me, I'm not interested. I know for a fact that the two of you haven't gone through the belongings you just toss into your armoires for at least a year, so you can spend the rest of the afternoon clearing them out. _Then_ you can go and apologize to Arwen for ruining her gown. And think yourselves lucky I am not making the two of you wash it!”

Grumbling, both twins made their way upstairs, Arwen just having enough time to dart back into her room, leaving the door open a crack, admiring the new lamp once again while she waited, sure it would not be long before...

A high-pitched yelp came from one of the twins, while the other let out a vulgar, _loud_ stream of cursing that made her eyes widen- she had never heard Quenya like that before!

She cast herself upon her bed, grabbing the nearest book and hiding her face in it, giving the impression she was engrossed in reading, and feigning utter surprise when the twins flung her door open, each of them holding the carved snakes she'd hidden in their armoires, amid the heaps of clothing. Tilting her head to one side, she smiled at them. “What lovely snakes! The carving is so intricate, I could almost believe they were real. Where did you get them?”

Amrod and Amras exchanged looks, then, slowly, looked at her. Her lips twitched, and she couldn't hold back one small giggle, remembering the shriek she had heard.

Their coppery heads shook in unison. “You do realize-”

“That this means war.”

Arwen sat up, propping her chin on her hands, letting a wicked gleam come into her eyes, already thinking ahead, to getting Ingalaurë (and possibly even Uncle Findaráto) to help her in the ensuing prank war. “I look forward to it.”

If Daerada had been there, she thought cheekily, he would have been _begging_ all three of them to stop this now. But he wasn't here, and didn't need to know about the coming 'conflict'. Not yet, anyway. Besides, his brothers had instigated it. Arwen had every right to defend herself. And to have fun doing so.

After all, Amrod and Amras didn't know of her bird form. No-one in Tirion did, except Daerada, since she'd never changed form deliberately within the city walls, and who would suspect a sparrowhawk of playing tricks on Elves?


	4. Chapter 4

Arwen was hot and thoroughly fed up of the whirlwind of activity that had turned the last few weeks into a blur. She had never realized how much _work_ went into setting up a new home! Moving things like furniture, moving them again, endless debate over what would go in which room... Even with her new night-light helping her to sleep better at night, she was still bone-weary. This afternoon, she had begged off more work, instead insisting she needed to exercise her rapidly-growing dog outside. The dog had become worn out quickly in the warm weather though, so she had returned him to his kennel, then slipped back into the garden before she was assigned another cleaning or unpacking job. An idea had struck her then and she'd darted out of sight of the house to clamber into a tall tree, then shifted forms from Elfling to bird, something that only became easier with each Shift.

Now, she took a deep breath, bracing herself for what she was about to do, hesitating a moment to acknowledge how different breathing felt while in her sparrowhawk form. Perched on a high branch on the very edge of the garden of her and Daerada's new home, she gave her wings a stretch, the way she might stretch her legs when preparing for a sprint. So far, in this form, she had only managed to get airborne from the ground, by flapping her wings hard, and thus could only rise a few feet above the floor while flying. Now, though, she wished to try something more challenging. Spreading her wings once again, she loosened the grip her claws had on the branch, leant forward, and for a second went into free-fall, her heart pounding, before an updraft caught her, sending her rapidly upwards into the sky above. Buoyed by the air current, Arwen scarcely had to use her wings at all, and seeing the clouds so close, the land spread out beneath her, sent a thrill through her veins, and she let out a high-pitched screech of triumph: a true sparrowhawk's call, indistinguishable from the sound made by the true bird. It was incredible.

But then the wind grew stronger and shifted direction, carrying her further from the house than she had intended to go, towards the main streets of Tirion- and the tall buildings that jutted up from them, one of which Arwen was being borne straight towards!

She flapped her wings frantically, trying her hardest to break free of the air current, just barely managing to do so, seconds before she would have crashed straight into a chimney. Her wings throbbed and ached badly, unused to such strain, and belatedly she realized that lack of practice might be why Daerada had cautioned her against flights such as this by herself. The revelation was no use at present though, when she needed to stay airborne, at least for long enough to find somewhere to land where she would not be gawked at by any of the Elves in the streets below, without injuring herself in the process.

The effort of staying in flight, straining the already over-taxed muscles in her wings and back, made her vision blur with pain, and each wing-beat was a struggle, leaving her panting- or whatever it was that birds did when short of breath. Gradually, it occurred to her that she was losing height, getting closer and closer to the ground, and she struggled to focus. Her current course would mean landing in the very center of a busy street, the last thing she wished to do. Glancing around, using every degree of the enhanced vision of this form, she located a garden at the front of a large manor house, with shade cast by trees. It was not a place she knew, but at least it seemed deserted, and if anyone did see her, well, there was nothing odd about a 'wild bird' landing in a garden close to trees, was there?

Gasping with the effort involved, she just managed to find the energy to angle her flight and swoop down, faster than she had intended, scarcely clearing the high garden wall and landing with more force than was needed on the grass. She tottered back and forth for a few minutes, struggling to maintain her balance and fold her wings back neatly. At least she had managed to land in the shade cast by the trees, and with her raven-black plumage, she should not be visible from the house: she had no desire to be thought a hunting bird and be carried off to some stable as a captive, thank you very much!

When the low, menacing growl sounded from behind a nearby thick bush, and an angry-looking hunting hound broke through to stare at her, teeth bared, Arwen had a few seconds to reflect that perhaps being discovered by an elf, mistaken for a hunting bird and being carried to a perch might have been the better option after all...

She backed- alright, _waddled_ away from the dog, some instinct owed to her sparrowhawk form making her puff her feathers up, to look larger than she was. The dog still stared, growling low in its throat, ears back, nostrils flaring, as if it did not know what to make of her: perhaps it scented an Elf while seeing a bird? If so, no wonder it was confused! But, she knew from experience, confused dogs could become angry and dangerous... would trying to fly again, despite the aches in her wings, be wiser?

A female voice, calling the dog's name in Quenya, interrupted the standoff, light footsteps approaching them. An instant later, the speaker appeared, a slender hand grasping the dog's collar and hauling it from the bush it was still half-concealed in, removing the canine from Arwen's sight. Relieved, she attempted to shuffle backwards, further into the shadows, before the elleth who owned the dog noticed her- she had promised Daerada that she would keep her shape-shifting a secret, after all. Naturally, it was at that precise moment that Arwen felt the tingling, prickling sensations that meant a change back to Elven form was imminent, making her curse inwardly. Not now, not here! She did not even know where she was, whose property she was on, and if she randomly appeared, a young elleth in a stranger's garden, how was she to explain how she had gotten there unseen? And the dog's owner was likely still in the garden. Arwen's Change of form always involved a glow of light: there was almost no chance she would not be discovered.

Despite her efforts to prevent it, in seconds she was Shifting back, and the blaze of light she gave off could have outshone the sun.

Arwen was on her feet, as she had been in bird form, her limbs shaking from the exertion of her flight and the stress of the change back into an Elf. Breathing heavily, it took a moment for her to look up. When she did, her heart sank immediately.

The elleth, who she had not gotten a good look at in bird form, stood before her, still clutching the hound's collar. Her eyes were wide and mouth was hanging open as she gazed at Arwen, but she did not speak. Arwen noticed long, wavy coal-black hair and dark brown eyes. Those features, along with the white gown the elleth wore, made her complexion look somewhat sallow, despite her skin being an unusual shade of pale brown. The colors in the elleth's fëa were roiling, uneasy. How much had she seen of Arwen's transformation?

 _If in doubt, apologize_. “I... I am sorry for trespassing in your home, my Lady.” Arwen spoke as politely as she was able. “I was... exploring the city, and lost my way. I slipped over the wall to seek shelter under the trees.” That was true, even if it was far from the whole truth. As long as the elleth had not seen Arwen change forms, then perhaps-

The elleth released the hound, after giving it a firm command of 'Stay!' and crossed her arms, watching Arwen through narrowed eyes, as her fëa-colors shifted to suspicion and anger, though her face remained blank. “Truly? And the purpose of your... illusion, or spell, whatever it was that I saw when a bird became an elfling before my eyes?” Now her face hardened into something unpleasant. “I am Aredhel Ar-Feinel, young one, if that means aught to you, and I do not look kindly upon elves who toy with sorcery. Now. The whole story, or I will have you hauled before King Arafinwë to explain yourself.” She skewered Arwen with her eyes, clearly not intending to let her leave without an explanation.

Arwen gulped nervously. Now what? Tell her Reborn several-times-removed great-aunt the truth, for she had recently learned of Aredhel and her tragic story, and break her promise to Daerada about not revealing her bird form to anyone, or let Aredhel take her to Arafinwë and risk his entire court finding out her secret- her family's secret?

Sweat beaded on her brow. What should she do?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I've been absent for so long, moving house takes a lot of time: I promise none of my stories have been abandoned! And yes, I made Aredhel a POC, because I wanted to. There are too many Caucasian/white elves IMO. Sorry if this offends anyone.


	5. Chapter 5

Arwen's heart was still fluttering uneasily as she perched on a chair in Aredhel's sitting room. On the one hand, the older elleth had not yet dragged her to Arafinwë's palace and proclaimed the secret of Arwen's shape-shifting in front of the whole court, on the other hand, the only reason she had _not_ done so was because she had decided to give Arwen a chance to explain to her in private, and had gestured for Arwen to go inside, without laying hands upon her, almost as if she feared to get too close. Aredhel was trying to appear stone-faced and in control but Arwen could see a solid 'ring' of fear and unease marring the color of her fëa each time her eyes fell upon Arwen. Had seeing Arwen changing forms truly scared her so?

Aredhel, who had been pacing before the unlit fireplace, now ceased her movements, facing Arwen and folding her arms. “I do not intend to wait until the end of Arda to hear your explanation, child.”

Arwen swallowed hard, still uncertain of what she ought to say. “I... what I did was not sorcery, if that helps.” At least, she did not think it was. Sorcery, as far as she knew, meant imposing your will upon something or someone, using or altering it for your own ends, against the very nature of a being, changing the Song for selfish reasons. Arwen's- and her family's- ability to assume the form of a bird was natural to them, a gift from their Maiar blood, the legacy of Melian and Lúthien, and they were under no will or power but their own. Surely that was not sorcery?

Aredhel scoffed, but something in her brown eyes softened slightly. “How am I to believe that?”

Arwen twisted her hands together. To say any more would be betraying her family's secret, something she had promised Daerada she would not do. But was Aredhel not family as well, through Arwen's kinship to Idril? Telling her could do no great harm, surely. She spoke slowly, choosing her words carefully, trying to catch Aredhel's eyes- something that her great-great-great aunt made impossible, as if she feared to meet Arwen's gaze directly. “How much do you know of Elwing, my grandmother, and the line of the Peredhil?”

Aredhel's eyes widened, her jaw dropped and she looked Arwen full in the face for the first time, scrutinizing her features. “I... you are Ëarendil and Elwing's granddaughter? Cousin Maglor's ward?”

“Yes...”

Aredhel exhaled shakily. “Then I suppose I should apologize for being so harsh to one of my own kin. That said, I do still want an explanation for how you changed into a bird. I know that Lord Ulmo once gifted Elwing with such a thing, but I do not see how it comes to you.”

Arwen blinked. It had honestly never occurred to her that people might believe Elwing's shape-shifting was naught but a gift from Ulmo, but, she supposed, it was more believable than one specific family possessing the power to alter their very hröar, several generations removed from the Maia that provided that ability. “I-I think Lord Ulmo awakened the gift in Elwing, but... many in my line can shift their form. It is a gift inherited from Melian. If I understand correctly, my ancestress Lúthien was the first to have the ability, and all her children retain the power.”

Aredhel had a hand pressed to her mouth. “You're saying... that _all_ the half-elven of Melian's line have this... skill?”

Arwen nodded earnestly, feeling uneasy: Aredhel did not fully believe her, she could tell, though why that was confounded her- she had told the truth, and Lúthien and Elwing were both known shape-shifters. What more could Aredhel want from her?

Aredhel's eyes narrowed, turning hard as flint once again. “You speak sweetly, I will give you that. But I have heard honeyed words before, and been misled, to my own sorrow and grief.” She straightened, the expression on her face now reminding Arwen of her own Daernaneth Galadriel, at her most imperious. “If you speak truthfully, then you will not mind my accompanying you to confirm your tale with Maglor.” She gestured for Arwen to stand, still keeping some distance from her, as if Arwen were some dangerous creature that might attack, and strode from her house into the street. Arwen had no choice but to follow. Aredhel walked swiftly, and it was clear she knew where she was going, but, Arwen thought, huffing from shortness of breath at matching Aredhel's stride, since Daerada and Arwen now lived in the house that once belonged to Daerada's brother Curufin and his family, it was not surprising that Aredhel, who had grown up in Tirion, would know where it was.

A thought struck Arwen then, and she gazed at her aunt. ' _Why have Daerada and I not seen you at court at all since we came to Tirion?'_

Aredhel whirled to face her, eyes wide as saucers, her hands now clenched in white-knuckled fists. “Do not _ever_ do that to me!”

“Do- oh.” Too late, Arwen realized she had spoken through ósanwe without realizing, and winced. “I'm sorry, I didn't do that on purpose.” Why did such things happen so _easily_ now? More and more as she got older, as if her power was growing along with her... it was so strange.

Aredhel's lips were white with suppressed anger- or fear. “Understand this, niece: my mind is my own, and no others. I will not have people intruding on my thoughts and manipulating me again, _ever_.”

Her fëa now rippled with jagged, mismatched colors: fear, anger, misery and hate. Arwen looked away, her eyes stinging. The way Aredhel felt right now was exactly how Arwen felt after her nightmares, or when she let herself think about what had happened before she left Middle-Earth. Part of her wanted to comfort her aunt as they resumed walking, but that would mean revealing that she could see more of Aredhel's mind than her aunt realized, and she knew that would not be wise.

Much to her relief, a few more minutes of tense silence brought them to the street that Arwen and Daerada lived on, and she all but ran ahead of Aredhel into the house, hoping, futile as it might be, that she might get a chance to tell Daerada her version of events before Aredhel did.

No such luck: Daerada stepped into the foyer the moment she appeared, smiling slightly, an expression which vanished, replaced by shock, joy and no small amount of trepidation as soon as Aredhel followed her inside. Arwen couldn't see her aunt's face, but judging by the look on Daerada's, this would not end well.

She considered running to her room to avoid the ensuing conversation, but no. She had gotten herself into this mess, shifting into bird form and flying without permission, thus getting into trouble and trespassing in Aredhel's garden: she would stay and accept whatever lecture she had earned from Daerada. Besides, over the past month or so, Arwen had realized that one could learn a great deal from listening to adults' conversations- more than you would ever be told directly, as so many things were considered unsuitable for children.

Daerada's voice shook as he finally spoke, like he couldn't quite believe his eyes. “Aredhel. Or is it Irisse again now?” He was trying to smile but tears shone in his eyes.

“I still go by Aredhel.” Her voice was curt. “And before you ask, you have not seen me around Tirion because I typically keep to my own estate. I do not wish for much company these days.”

“Yet you're here...” Daerada's eyes flickered to Arwen. “Did my granddaughter take it upon herself to come and meet you?” The scolding in his tone was clear and Arwen flushed, ducking her head.

“After a fashion.” Aredhel's tone was even, but her eyes were piercing, accusatory. “One of my hunting hounds began barking. I went to quiet him, and saw a strange black-plumed sparrowhawk beneath a tree.” She tossed back her thick hair, giving Arwen a suspicious, sideways glance. “Imagine my surprise when, upon going to see if the bird was injured, I saw it resume elven form before my eyes.”

Daerada's eyes shot back to Arwen, now narrowed with anger- and disappointment. Arwen cringed. Perhaps she should have simply gone to her room after all, let Daerada calm down before speaking to her about shifting and being caught. She hadn't done it on purpose, but... really, she shouldn't have shifted and left their property. That had been one of Daerada's rules, and too late she understood it was not done just to control her, but to prevent problems like this one arising. How could they smooth things over with Aredhel now, and persuade her to keep Arwen's unusual ability a secret?

She hoped that Daerada had some ideas, because she couldn't think of a single thing, and she already got the distinct feeling that her aunt disliked her _because_ of her gifts.

“Arwen, go to your room while I speak to Aredhel in private.” Daerada's voice broke into her thoughts, his tone laden with disappointment.

Despite her heart sinking at the thought of him being upset with her, Arwen bristled. She wasn't a small child like Anariel! “I want to stay-”

“ _Now._ ” Daerada rarely used that tone of voice with her, but Arwen knew full well what it meant: no arguing.

“Fine.” She sulked, stomping up the stairs. If she was going to be treated like a child, she would act like one, slamming her door for good measure. She heard Daerada sigh and inwardly winced, not really wanting to upset him, but not wanting to be excluded from things either.

Her eyes gleamed as she remembered something she'd discovered not long ago, when she'd woken from a nightmare, kept quiet because she didn't want to disturb Daerada again, and, while lying in bed with her eyes closed, her mind had borne her, somehow, downstairs where Daerada was speaking to Uncle Findaráto and Aunt Amarië, and she had heard their words as clearly as if she had been in the parlor with them. If she could do that again...

Alone in her room, she sat cross-legged on her bed, breathing deeply and closing her eyes. With no sight to distract her, she could 'see' the fëa-colors of Daerada and Aredhel downstairs, as if the very walls and floors were not there, and if she concentrated, she could hear their words, with them none the wiser.

She heard the name 'Eöl', and, remembering that was the name of Aredhel's husband, 'listened' harder, eager to know what they were discussing.


	6. Chapter 6

Arwen twisted her hands nervously as she waited for Daerada to call her downstairs. Aredhel had departed not long ago, after giving her word that she would not reveal any of Arwen's- or her family's- secrets. The conversation Arwen had listened in on had focused mainly on that: Aredhel had refused to be drawn into any conversation about Eöl, so all that Arwen had learned was that he remained in Mandos (Aredhel had said that she wished him there for the remainder of Arda, which was interesting, but she had not revealed anything further, much to Arwen's disappointment.)

Now, Arwen's stomach fluttered, as she was well aware that before long, Daerada would call her downstairs and she would likely be scolded for leaving their home in her sparrowhawk form, and being seen transforming back. She had not meant to be seen, of course, but it was unlikely Daerada would accept that as an excuse.

Really, though, Arwen thought, resentment starting to flicker in her mind, why _should_ she have to hide who she was, what she could do? Daerada always said there was nothing wrong with her or her abilities, that they made her special. So why did she have to hide them as if they were somehow shameful? Closing her eyes, she thought back, to the incredible feeling of freedom that had coursed through her as she'd flown through the open sky for the first time, before she'd gotten swept off course. She'd never known a feeling like it. No boundaries, nothing that could stop her going wherever she wished, when she wanted...

Her arms itched and tingled, and she scratched at them absent-mindedly, her eyes flying open when she didn't feel skin beneath her fingernails as she'd expected, and her jaw dropped.

The pale smooth skin of her arms was interrupted here and there with sleek black feathers, growing from her very flesh! Her heart began to pound. What was this? She was well aware she could shift her hröa from an elleth into a bird, but nothing had ever been said of the two forms... melding like this! She tugged at the feathered areas, wincing when it hurt like pulling one's own nails. _Calm down, Arwen, think_ , she told herself, taking several deep breaths. When she had first shifted into her sparrowhawk form, Daerada had found her, and he'd coaxed her to Shift back by having her picture herself as she should appear, imposing her will upon her physical form. The same should work for this bizarre part-shift- or, at least, she hoped so. Squeezing her eyes shut tightly, she imagined the way her skin usually looked: alabaster-pale, smooth and utterly free of feathers.

The itching and tingling resumed, and in the space of a few heartbeats, when she peeked at herself, she had returned to normal. Her heart still raced, though, and the ozone-feeling she usually associated with encountering one of her family (the half-elven members, anyway) now seemed to be coursing and snaking through her veins, like little pricks of lightning. Still, it was a vast improvement upon having literal feathers sprouting from her elven form, so Arwen resolved to ignore it: if anything like this happened again, _then_ she would ask Daerada about it, she decided. She was becoming too old to run to him with every small problem she had, after all, and she'd managed to resolve this particular bit of strangeness on her own.

“Arwen. Come down here please.” Daerada's voice, more serious than usual, sounded, and only then did she remember that she was probably going to be in trouble for showing herself, her gifts, to Aredhel.

Gulping, she slid off her bed, gave herself one last check for any stray feathers- none, thankfully- and left her room, head hanging and shoulders slumped. Whether or not concealing her gifts was right or wrong, she had disappointed Daerada by her actions today, and she _hated_ knowing that to be true. The odd lightning-pinpricks were still chasing each other through her, beneath her skin, like some trapped energy that wanted to be set free, but it was mild enough to ignore as she walked downstairs.

The house was still very warm, despite the opened windows: summer in Tirion was far warmer than in Alqualondë, and Arwen was still not used to it. As she stepped into the stuffy sitting room where Daerada stood, his arms folded, she wished it was just a _little_ cooler, sighing in relief when an icy chill of breeze sprang from somewhere and caressed her skin, lowering her temperature and almost making her shiver.

“Daerada.” Arwen kept her head down, stopping just in front of where he stood before the fireplace, still feeling the twist of guilt for having let him down today, by breaking one of his few rules. “I'm sorry.”

His dark eyes softened- slightly- but it didn't prevent him from launching into a lecture about risks, and the importance of protecting not only herself, but her whole family, from those who might not understand them.

Arwen felt about one inch tall by the time he had finished with her, but she was beginning to understand that the elves of Valinor might fear her family's gifts, and it was really for the best not to _give_ them aught to be afraid of, for as long as it was possible. She did not like it, but, it seemed, this was how things had to be for her, and all her part-Maia kin here in these lands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arwen's Maia heritage begins to assert itself more in this chapter, and it's not all fun and games... And in case anyone's wondering about her attitude: she is an adolescent now. Rebellion and questioning/pushing the boundaries is going to be something she tries out, even though, as seen in this chapter, she really isn't the type to intentionally upset her parents/guardian.


End file.
